The Ghost of You
by Gueneviere
Summary: As Head Girl, Hermione has to deal with her new duties while tolerating the presence of some very unwelcome roommates. Head Boy Draco Malfoy is one of them. Four opinionated portraits and an arrogant ghost who won't leave her alone are the others. REVAMPD
1. New Roomates

_Summary: As Hogwart's new Head Girl, Hermione has to deal with her new duties all while tolerating the presence of some very unwelcome roommates. Head Boy Draco Malfoy is one of them. Four opinionated portraits and an arrogant ghost who won't leave her alone are the others._

_Warnings: AU seventh year, and past partly-AU sixth year. Slight crossover with Meg Cabot's __Mediator __Series, although its reading is not at all necessary for the understanding of the fic. Non-regular updates._

_Rating: T at the moment. Will probably change in future chapters._

_Acknowledgements: To EuphoniumGurl0, for the beta work!_

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**I never said I'd lie in wait forever  
If I died we'd be together  
I can't always just forget her  
But she could try**

**At the end of the world  
Or the last thing I see  
You are  
Never coming home  
Never coming home  
Could I? Should I?  
And all the things that you never ever told me  
And all the smiles that are ever ever…  
Ever…**

**Get the feeling that you're never  
All alone and I remember now  
At the top of my lungs in my arms she dies  
She dies**

**At the end of the world  
Or the last thing I see  
You are  
Never coming home  
Never coming home  
Could I? Should I?  
And all the things that you never ever told me  
And all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me  
Never coming home  
Never coming home  
Could I? Should I?  
And all the wounds that are ever gonna scar me  
For all the ghosts that are never gonna catch me**

**If I fall  
If I fall (down)**

**At the end of the world  
Or the last thing I see  
You are  
Never coming home  
Never coming home  
Never coming home  
Never coming home  
And all the things that you never ever told me  
And all the smiles that are ever gonna haunt me  
Never coming home  
Never coming home  
Could I? Should I?  
And all the wounds that are ever gonna scar me  
For all the ghosts that are never gonna...**

**— _The Ghost of You, _My Chemical Romance**

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"Is everything clear, then?" Professor Minerva McGonagall demanded in a crisp, professional tone as the new Head Girl and Boy of Hogwarts took in their surroundings.

"Crystal," Draco Malfoy answered in a deceptively polite voice, his face contorted in a sneer as he paced around inspecting every corner of the room.

Hermione didn't know why he was being so particular. Sure, the place probably wasn't Malfoy Manor, but she rather thought it was quite satisfactory a setting nonetheless.

There was a small common room, a fireplace, a modest bookshelf, and the two bedrooms—each with its own en-suite bathroom too. The passworded fireplace was wired to the Headmaster's office, so that they could speak with him anytime, although not actually floo to it. In addition to these commodities, the common room's walls were furnished with portraits that would allow them to send messages to all four Houses, should the need ever arise.

So yes, all in all, the Heads' chambers were quite comfortable.

Head Girl Hermione Granger was absurdly irritated by the colour theme though. But then Slytherin green and silver really did clash horribly with Gryffindor red and gold.

Professor McGonagall nodded briskly. "Well then, I'll let you unpack," she said, and raised her wand to tap the manticore statue that had let them in. She seemed to loom at the entrance for a second. "I certainly expect you children to make an effort to get along," she said, eying both of her students before settling uncommonly soft eyes on the Head Girl.

Hermione nodded, but Malfoy seemed too preoccupied to reply, worried as he was staring at the scantily-clad maenads of the animated bacchanalian tapestry above the fireplace.

She wasn't sure if such choice of decoration was entirely appropriate for a castle whose population was largely composed by teenaged males, but it wasn't really her place to say anything.

A brown-haired maenad sent Malfoy a feral smile, eliciting a suspicious scowl from the blond.

"And Miss Granger..."

The girl turned her attention back to McGonagall, who still stood by the door. She appeared unwilling to leave, and her wrinkled forehead was set in a worried frown.

"You should come by my office one of these days," the Deputy Headmistress said in a quiet tone, sparing a glance at the Head Boy as though to ensure he wasn't paying her any attention. She sighed and looked at the Gryffindor again. "I mean it, Hermione."

The girl's jaw tightened and she suddenly felt like screaming, but she forced her lips into a polite smile nonetheless.

It wasn't McGonagall's fault after all. And she was grateful of her Professor's concern.

_Or she should be, in any case._

"I will," Hermione assured her, although she would do nothing of the sort if she could help it.

McGonagall returned her smile before walking away, the statue moving to close the entrance as she did.

Silence fell over the room. Malfoy had abandoned his glaring match with the tapestry girl to start one with the young shepherd of a nearby pastoral painting. She'd like to know what had _his_ knickers in a twist.

Shaking her head, Hermione ignored her fellow Head in favour taking in her new quarters once again.

_Eugh._

The awful red-and-green plait of a nearby loveseat seemed to mock her in its ugliness, and she pursed her lips in disapproval.

_Well,_ this _she could fix easily at least. And the Headmaster wouldn't mind a few temporary colour charms, right?_

Hermione nodded to herself, gathered her wavy toffee-brown hair in a ponytail, and whipped out her wand.

"Malfoy?" she called out to him. "What do you say we settle on a more… neutral colouring?"

The boy quickly turned around, eyebrows raised.

"This place looks like a bloody Christmas tree," she elaborated, and pointed towards the offending loveseat.

The pair of blonde eyebrows seemed to rise even further at her uncharacteristic swearing, but he remained silent. After a moment he nodded.

"Fine," he replied in an even, if guarded voice. He paused. "What do you think of beige?"

**ooo**

The room turned out quite nicely.

They had decided on dark brown, and some creams and beiges. A few details in forest green and deep burgundy served to remind visitors of the Heads' houses.

Malfoy was just finishing engraving the fireplace with a small snake and an – almost – equally sized lion.

"You could really make a living as an interior decorator, you know," Hermione commented idly as she waved her wand over the last crimson couch, turning it into a deep brown.

He grunted something unintelligible, but the Gryffindor noticed his lips tugging upwards.

She felt irritated by his amusement and, not for the first time since the start of summer, felt the powerful desire to antagonize someone. It was irrational and immature, she knew, but found herself unable to bite her tongue.

"I mean it," she continued, her voice turning nasty even to her own ears. "You might even want to consider it as a career choice if you decide being a Death Eater isn't really your thing."

She regretted the words as soon as they left her lips, but knew she wouldn't take them back. She once again wondered where the hell had Hermione Granger gone hide.

Malfoy had turned around slightly, and she could notice something brief but violent flashing on his face before his expression settled back into one of bored apathy. His knuckles still remained white from blood loss as he gripped his wand tight, though.

Something about his posture suddenly reminded Hermione that he and _She _were relatives, and the icy fire of hatred that now thrived in her gut swelled tempestuously.

_A pair of cruel brown__ eyes glinting like shiny daggers in the darkness... A burst of maniacal laughter echoing throughout the household... The electric storm raging outside..._

Hermione was very glad when Malfoy seemingly decided she wasn't worth neither his time nor indignation.

"Funny," was his cold, humourless reply before he turned towards the stairs that led to his room.

"Night," she whispered under her breath as she saw him disappear behind the thick wooden door.

_Damn it, Granger. Pull yourself together or you'll accomplish nothing._

Shaking her head, the Head Girl climbed her own stairs, her eyes surveying her new common room one last time.

**ooo**

Hermione Granger stood fuming in front of her dark mahogany door.

Loud cries and strained whispers could be heard from the inside, making her extremely curious as to _what the hell were people doing in her bedroom_.

Huffing in irritation, and holding her wand firmly in her right hand, Hermione threw the door open.

Two ladies and two gentlemen stood on a large portrait in the middle of the room. The setting was apparently the Heads' quarters, although it was decorated in the colours of all four Houses. The furniture looked antiquated, however, and there were several ornate swords and shields hanging of the stone walls.

The people in the portrait seemed agitated.

One of the men – the bearded, sandy-haired one – was outright yelling; his face red and his hands gesticulating wildly. A petite witch with curly blonde haired was trying to soothe him, while the willowy, auburn-haired one tapped her foot impatiently. The second man had a paler complexion, darker hair, a frown, and sat on the farthest end of the portrait, looking supremely bored.

A translucent figure in elegant, old-fashioned robes, stood before the portrait, loudly hissing back at the enraged wizard. His handsome, aristocratic features were fixed in a sneer that reminded Hermione much of the moody blonde Slytherin she had just had the _pleasure _of spending the evening with.

Hermione blinked twice.

"Excuse me?" she wondered aloud.

The men continued to yell at each other, her question apparently unheard.

"Excuse me!?" she repeated, getting increasingly irritated.

The yelling continued, but the blonde witch had noticed her and was patting the auburn-haired one on the shoulder.

"EXCUSE ME!?"

The room's five integrants turned to stare at her, wearing similar surprised expressions.

"Oh, you must be Miss Granger, our brand new Head Girl!" the taller witch said in an eager voice, her midnight blue eyes darting from Hermione to the other portraits, and then back to Hermione. "I'm sorry for the ruckus. Honestly, Godric doesn't know how to behave himself sometimes."

"_Who are you and what are you doing in my chambers?_" Hermione demanded, glaring at the unknown ghost that was now leaning proudly against the cherry dresser that stood by her four-poster bed.

The man raised his head and stared at her with interest, but without giving any sign of realizing that she had just addressed him.

"_Us?_" The witch sniffed, looking a little affronted, "Why, Miss Granger, we're only the_ Founders_ of this most prestigious institution. Now, I was told you were an exceedingly bright girl, but if you _were_ then you surely would have read Hog—"

"—warts a History, page 262, '_the Head Girl's private chambers are guarded by the portrait of the Four Founders with the purpose of ensuring her protection and safety_,' or with the purpose of ensuring she doesn't bring any boys to her room, most likely, but that's beside the point." Hermione interrupted in a bossy tone.

The sandy-haired man in the portrait – Godric Gryffindor, as it seemed – smirked. "It seems Ro's found her match," he whispered to the blonde witch – surely Helga Hufflepuff – who smiled back at him.

"I do remember agreeing to a spying portrait," Hermione bit out. "But I haven't read _anything_ about a loud, degenerate ghost haunting the Head Girl's rooms."

The Founders – even Slytherin, who had done nothing but sit moodily in a corner until now – gasped in surprise. In his shock, the iridescent gentleman apparently lost control of his materialization, falling back through the dresser. He rapidly stood up again, gawking at Hermione with huge eyes and a slightly open mouth.

The brunette's fast-working brain took in their stricken expressions, trying to come up with a plausible explanation for their shock.

She failed.

Her anger abating slightly, and feeling a little ashamed of her outburst, she continued in a more subdued voice. "So… _who are you?_"

The ghost, loosing his previous haughty air, just continued to stared at her_ –_ eyes wide open, and breath coming in short pants as if he was having a panic attack.

Hermione raised both eyebrows, still very confused.

"Wait! You can _hear_ him? You can _see _him?!" Salazar Slytherin's demanded almost shrilly.

"Of course I can hear him, he wasn't being very quiet before, now was he?" She snapped. Her anger was rising once again. "And what do you mean by asking me if I can _see_ him? All magical beings are able to perceive ghosts and poltergeists!"

Something occurred to Hermione and her eyes widened a fraction.

Salazar Slytherin's portrait and the ghost both stared at her looking perplexed, but very much delighted.

_They both had the same expression—_

"Except for those that are cursed," they said in unison.

—_the same voice—_

"And unfortunately, Miss Granger," Slytherin's portrait murmured darkly, "I am cursed."

—_the same face—_

"Merlin's ghost," Hermione whispered softly.

The man's lips curved, but it was not a smile.

"No, not Merlin's," he said. "Just Salazar Slytherin's"

The shocked silence that fell among the room's occupants was only interrupted by Helga's cry of surprise when the bedroom's door was violently slammed open.

_**

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**_

_TBC_


	2. His Mediator

_Summary: As Hogwarts's new Head Girl, Hermione has to deal with her new duties all while tolerating the presence of some very unwelcome roommates. Head Boy Draco Malfoy is one of them. Four opinionated portraits and an arrogant ghost who won't leave her alone are the others._

_Warnings: AU seventh year, and past partly-AU sixth year. Slight crossover with Meg Cabot's __Mediator __Series, although its reading is not at all necessary for the understanding of the fic. Non-regular updates._

_Rating: T at the moment. Will probably change in future chapters._

_Acknowledgements: To EuphoniumGurl0, for the beta work!_

_

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**  
**_

**"She's a mediator — a liaison between the living and the dead. In other words, she sees dead people. And they won't leave her alone until she helps them resolve their unfinished business with the living."**

**— _The Mediator, _Meg Cabo**t

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**

"_Merlin's ghost," Hermione whispered softly._

_The man's lips curved, but it was not a smile._

"_No, not Merlin's," he said. "Just Salazar Slytherin's"_

_The shocked silence that fell among the room's occupants was only interrupted by Helga's cry of surprise when the bedroom's door was violently slammed open._

"What on earth are you doing in here, Granger!?" Draco Malfoy demanded from the doorframe, wearing dark green pyjama pants, a white shirt, and an angry frown. "I could hear the yelling from my room!"

Hermione, white as a sheet, could only point at the ghost that stood by her bed shaking his translucent head in exasperation.

The Head Boy looked confused for a moment before shrugging it off and smirking mockingly. "Well, it seems that our resident heroine has finally gone mad!"

Busy as she was assimilating the fact that the scowling spirit of Salazar Slytherin himself was indeed leaning against her bedpost, Hermione paid no mind to the blond's allegations. If she was truthful with herself, a part of her rather thought she might very well be loosing it.

Lady Hufflepuff seemed to take the offence on her behalf, though.

"There is no need for you to be rude to your fellow Head, Mr Malfoy," the witch chided sternly.

"Oh, shut up, lady," Draco replied carelessly, thoroughly enjoying the sight of a bewildered Hermione Granger gawking at an empty space, her eyes threatening to pop out of their sockets.

The ocre-robbed woman huffed in disbelief.

"No, Mr Malfoy, it will be you who will shut up and promptly return to your own quarters before I'm forced to give you a detention," Portrait Salazar informed the boy with a sneer.

That put an end to his enjoyment quite successfully.

"_What!? _You're my House Founder! You're supposed to be on my side!" Draco exclaimed in indignation.

"No, I'm supposed to be on the House of Slytherin's side, which is why I'm threatening you with detention rather than taking points off."

The portrait's eyes wandered to the brunette girl by the floor as he spoke impatiently, seemingly wanting to dismiss Draco as fast as possible

Draco didn't know what the little Mudblood was up to, and he didn't particularly care, but… _the sheer injustice!_

"B-but—she started with the yelling! It was all her!"

"Oh, just… go finish fixing your hair for bed, Ferret, will you?" A now composed Hermione interrupted in a slightly frantic tone whiles pushing a struggling blond through the door. She grabbed some floo powder from a crystal bowl that lay on the large cherrywood desk and threw it behind him. "There! Floo Daddy if you need help!"

Hermione then slammed, locked and silenced the door with a sway of her hand. She couldn't help but smile bitterly when she heard the lock turn.

Draco kicked her door twice, and made a growling sound of enraged frustration that sounded suspiciously like the words "stupid bitch", before she heard him march back to his own bedroom and slam his door.

Portraits and ghost stared at her.

"Silent, wandless magic," Rowena brought her hands together and smiled at her. "A commendable feat, Miss Granger."

_She wouldn't find it q__uite as commendable if she knew the story behind it._

"That was brilliant!" Godric said breathlessly as he roared in laughter.

"What a dreadful child," Helga muttered sullenly, taking a seat in a bright yellow couch.

"Albus was right in his choice of Head Girl, I see." Rowena gushed some more. "He mentioned you were bright, but I'm impressed!"

"'Go finish fixing your hair for bed'! 'Floo Daddy if you need help!' And the floo powder—a stroke of brilliance!" Godric continued to laugh.

_A stroke of brilliance? No. It had been cruel if anything. She had forgotten Malfoy's father was in Azkaban._

Her head spinning, Hermione's hands went to massage her temples as she snuck yet another glance at the ghost by her bed. He was looking more and more irritated by the second.

"Are you alright, dearie?" Helga asked Hermione who was holding her head in her hands in desperation, "I'm sure he didn't mean to be so hurtful."

_Oh, yes he did. But s__he didn't blame him._

"Hey, wait a second. Why aren't you in _my_ house?" Rowena scowled slightly. "I'm the one supposed to get those of high intellectual facilities…"

"Well, it seems like you don't get all the smart kids, after all!" Godric grinned at Ravenclaw, who turned and looked at him as though she'd love nothing more than to strangle him with the lace of her blue dress robes. "Cor, Ro, you're positively green with envy!"

"Why, you little—"

"Damnation!" Portrait Salazar exclaimed. "Will you all be quiet?!"

The quarrelling Founders grumbled at their fourth, but did as he asked. That, of course, didn't stop Gryffindor from glaring at the man with all his might.

Hermione recognized this as the opportunity to regain control over what was happening. She had to make sense of this, and she avoided looking at Slytherin – any one of them – as she tried to calm herself down.

"Okay, um… it seems that we've got a situation here," she started.

"_Situation_?!" Ghost Salazar suddenly appeared in front of her, whispering angrily through gritted teeth. "I've been wandering around this damned castle for a millennia, unseen and ignored by everyone – even by my own descendants – and now it turns out my mediator is some little Gryffindor tart! I wouldn't call this a mere situation!"

_Tart?!_ _Just who the hell did he think he was?!_

She growled but remained quiet, desperately trying to control her lately volatile temper. She tried to focus on the important thing.

"Your _mediator_?" Hermione finally managed, still annoyed but whacking her brain to remember where she had heard that term before… she was positive she had read about cursed ghosts somewhere in Grimmauld Place. Most books had made it all sound like a load of hippogriff dung, though. Apparently books weren't always right after all.

Rowena's brown eyes brightened.

"Oh, you can find Mediation mentioned in Phaedra M—"

"—Morgan's _Beyond the Grave_," Hermione murmured to herself. "I knew I had read about it somewhere."

Rowena frowned. "You're getting quite aggravating, Miss Granger," she grumbled though a pout.

"I truly don't understand how you manage to keep up with books published centuries after your death, darling," Helga commented, her voice full of gentle pity as though her best friend was terminally ill. Rowena looked like she wanted to do something very plebeian and stick her tongue at the blonde.

"Wait a second, I think I might actually have it around here," Hermione interrupted the exchange and bent to drag her trunk to the centre of her room. "_Jugis evigilo_." She whispered, tapping her wand on the trunk's right side.

The lock made a clicking sound and disappeared.

"A password. Clever," Portrait Salazar commented dispassionately.

"Necessary," the young witch corrected just as unenthusiastically as she opened her trunk and took a folded pair of hot pink socks from one of the inner pockets. The impatient-looking ghost before her raised a translucent eyebrow but Hermione said nothing as she waved her wand over the socks transfiguring them into a miniature bookcase the size of a matchbox. Another wave and a large bookcase lay against the formerly bare right wall of the room.

"Here it is," Hermione said as she took a large dusty old tome from the bookcase. "_Beyond the Grave_ by Phaedra Morgan."

She took the black book and looked for the term 'Mediation' in the index, touching the book's pages with great care so as to not rip the them. "Page 1168…"

"Hurry up, girl, will you?" Ghost Salazar exclaimed testily.

Hermione's felt her eye twitch.

_First he occupied her rooms unannounced, then he called her a tart __and now he was hurrying her up?!_

_The Slytherins of this day and age were looking less and less insufferable by the second._

"I'm waiting…" The ghost growled.

Hermione closed her dark eyes and counted to three before fixing them on the Founder of the House of the Serpents – both of them.

"I'm getting the feeling that you need my help," she said, her voice tightly pleasant. "You still haven't given me reason to do so, though, so I'd sit tight and shut up if I were you."

_She would have never thought she'd talk like this to any one of the school's Founders__, but goodness was the man unpleasant!_

Said man crossed his arms and gritted his teeth to stop himself from saying something unkind.

"Found it." Hermione proclaimed as she turned back to the book, and took a seat on the tall chair by her desk. "_'A mediator is a cursed ghost's only chance of redemption…'_"

Ghost and portrait scowled at her, but she ignored them. She frowned herself, foreseeing trouble already.

"'…_Only them and the deceased's closest are able to interact with him or her.' _Well, that explains why you four are able to see him too," Hermione said nodding to the portrait on her wall.

"Unfortunately," Godric grumbled sourly under his breath.

"'_Ancient folklore… deemed unreasonable… cynics and disbelievers… refer to _The Apartheid Spirit_ for more on the subject._" The Head Girl's frown deepened as she went back to the top of the page and skimmed the short entry once more. "Oh, this is interesting…"

Hermione raised the book a little.

"'_It is a mediator's duty to assist the cursed ghost on its unfinished business so that he or her may cross over onto the afterlife and attain eternal rest.'_"

The witch finished and looked up, placing a bookmark on the book and laying it on her desk.

There was a short, pregnant silence before anyone spoke once again.

"I say," Godric whispered, wearing with a malicious smirk that looked out of place in his honest face. "I say you don't help the slimy git, Miss Granger. He doesn't deserve eternal rest."

**

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**

_TBC_


	3. This Coward Gryffindor

_Summary: As Hogwarts's new Head Girl, Hermione has to deal with her new duties all while tolerating the presence of some very unwelcome roommates. Head Boy Draco Malfoy is one of them. Four opinionated portraits and an arrogant ghost who won't leave her alone are the others._

_Warnings: AU seventh year, and past partly-AU sixth year. Slight crossover with Meg Cabot's __Mediator __Series, although its reading is not at all necessary for the understanding of the fic. Non-regular updates._

_Rating: T at the moment. Will probably change in future chapters._

_Acknowledgements: To EuphoniumGurl0, for the beta work!_

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**"Innocence can be redefined and called stupidity. Honesty can be called gullibility. Candour becomes lack of common sense. Generosity can be called soft-headedness, and observe: none of these have a place in war."**

**— Abraham Maslow**

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**

"_I say," Godric started with a malicious smirk that looked out of place in his face. "I say you don't help the slimy git, Miss Granger. He doesn't deserve eternal rest."_

_Both Salazars glared at the fair-haired man, rage and hurt flashing in their eyes._

"Godric! That's an awful thing to say – Salazar was your best friend!" Helga berated him jumping from her yellow couch to whack him in the head.

"'_Was' _being the operating word, Helga, sweetheart," Godric replied testily, massaging his head and smoothing his medieval-looking crimson robes before taking a seat.

Rowena tried to intervene. "Come on, Ric–"

"No! That tosser was consumed by the Dark Arts, remember? – I told him to stop, he didn't listen! Then he went all bigoted and demanded the muggleborns to be expelled from Hogwarts! How can you all just forgive and forget?" Godric exclaimed getting increasingly more agitated. Suddenly, he turned to face a tired-looking Hermione, "Tell me Hermione – if I may call you Hermione – why would you want to aid the man that was the reason you are discriminated against today?"

Hermione sighed. Suddenly Godric Gryffindor reminded her of Ron. And not in a good way either.

"Well, Godric – if I may call you Godric – I hardly think there was no blood prejudice before–"

"_Exactly!_" Portrait Salazar cried, pointing at Hermione and looking very agitated as well. "Exactly, Gryffindor. You know most wizard and witches thought badly of muggles back then. I myself believed them savages, with their witch-hunting and witch-burning!"

"But the wizards and witches that got hurt or killed were muggleborns! That's why we needed to accept muggleborns into Hogwarts, to protect them!" Godric raged.

Hermione was, at this point, extremely grateful she had thought of silencing the door.

"You mean kidnap them and separate them from their families!" Salazar yelled back.

"Yes, well – it was for the greater good!"

"The greater good! _The greater good!_ That's what I always hated of you, Ric, you're so self-righteous." Portrait Salazar replied, surprising Hermione by running a hand through his hair – a mannerism she was used to seeing in Harry. "You call me arrogant, but you too are egocentric, thinking you know better than others what must be done!"

"That's not the point! You thought muggleborns were stupid!" The Gryffindor Head of House continued to scream, his face as red as a tomato.

_Yes_, Hermione decided, _Ron and Godric would get along swimmingly._

Salazar sighed and sat on a dark green couch, forcing himself to remain calm. "I never said they were _stupid_, but I did think they weren't as prepared as purebloods, and you know that was true; most of the muggles of our time didn't even know how to read – Helga was always teaching them that sort of things."

"And what about your precious purebloods?" Godric demanded.

"They weren't my _precious purebloods_, Gryffindor." Salazar growled back, scowling at his co-Founder. "I _did _think they would be naturally more adept at magic than muggleborns because _dammit_, it seemed logical at the time! And of course I wanted the best of the best in my house, just as you wanted the bravest, and Ro the smartest, and Helga the ones that worked the hardest." Salazar's breath was coming fast and agitated, and the knuckles of his fisted hands seemed to not be getting enough blood.

Hermione turned to look at the ghost that sat in her bed, wanting to know what he had to say in all of this.

Said ghost was staring at her intensely, as though he was performing Legilimency on her. She knew he wasn't because she had studied Occlumency the whole summer and felt relatively confident that she'd be able to at least tell if he had entered her mind.

His blazing, powerful stare still chilled her to the bone, though.

"You were wrong," Godric growled fiercely.

Salazar growled back. "Yes. I was," Helga gasped under her breath, and Rowena, who had been taking a few notes from a book – Hermione gathered that confrontations between the male Founders weren't uncommon – raised a curious eyebrow.

It seemed Salazar didn't tend to apologize. That was surely a trait he had passed down to the students of his House.

"Yes, I was," Ghost Salazar echoed, still looking intently at Hermione. The portrait Founders turned to stare at him. "A thousand years of seeing muggleborns perform just as well as purebloods in every aspect of magic forced me to capitulate on my beliefs. A thousand years of seeing my own lineage maintain their blood pure by marrying their immediate family forced me to realize how foolish I had been... "

"Fine, but _still_ – ouch!" A frowning Godric tried to interject, earning himself a second slap in the head courtesy of Helga Hufflepuff.

"I've admitted my mistakes and I've changed my views," Ghost Salazar continued, his colourless still eyes boring into Hermione's dark ones. "Will you help me achieve the peace I seek, Miss Granger?"

Hermione opened her mouth to speak –

"Don't listen to that snake! Hermione, believe _me_, he's just trying to manipulate you! "

"Shut up, for Merlin's sake, shut up!" Hermione cried at her House Founder, her eyes flashing in exasperation, and her caramel curls finally breaking free from her loose ponytail.

Everybody in the room stared at Hermione in surprise, as though they all had the right to engage in a shouting match but her. This thought only served to fuel her anger.

_She could sense a meltdown coming her way._

"So you'll help him after all?" Gryffindor exclaimed in disbelief. "You're in my House, lass! You're supposed to be on my side!"

"Anyone sensing a dèja-vu, here?" Helga wondered with a sigh.

"I'm devastated to disappoint your expectations then, but I'm on my own side," Hermione growled, aware that she was provoking her own House Founder.

She would have cared last year; she would've bit her tongue.

Not this year though. Not after everything that'd happened…

She shook her head to herself and rose from her chair and approaching her trunk, starting to put away her clothes and belongings. She tried to be careful, but she had so far failed to keep her emotions in check.

"Where's your Gryffindor loyalty!?" Godric demanded, clearly enraged that the young witch wasn't even looking at him as he berated her.

"I would expect it to be in the garbage bin, along with my naiveté, my recklessness, my compassion, my sense of humour and the remnants of my childhood." The girl replied, almost to herself, as she tried to unfold a violet shirt that had gotten wrinkled in the trip.

"Alas, we've got a snake in a lion's fur!" Portrait Salazar smirked triumphantly. "Tell me, where did you shed your scales, girl?"

Hermione stopped what she was doing to send the portrait a disgusted sneer. "Those are horrible puns, _sir_."

"An inner-Slytherin, huh?" Ghost Salazar was looking curious but decidedly more agreeable, probably relieved that his fate might not depend on a suicidal teenager who would get herself killed and leave him stranded on Earth for another millennia.

Hermione's eyes flashed as she turned to glare at the man.

"Not by choice," she all but hissed. "We are at _war_. I'll do what I need to stay long enough to make a difference."

Salazar blinked at the eighteen-year-old girl. She seemed so different…

The ghost shook his head when Godric opened his mouth again. The man simply didn't seem to value the fragility of his acrylic existence.

"If the decision is between dying bravely and living cowardly, then it's–!"

Hermione's hands tightened their hold on her shirt, wrinkling it further.

"_Don't even finish that_ _sentence._" Hermione interrupted, her voice quiet and cold.

Yes. She was decidedly different.

Every integrant of the room stared at the girl intently, like spectators in a play, but all she did was take a bundle of clothes to the bathroom and kick the door after her.

An anticlimactic silence filled the room.

"Well," Rowena started, sweeping a reddish brown lock of hair behind her ear. "If you don't think she's worthy of Gryffindor, I'll gladly take her."

Godric grumbled something nonsensical and sat back on his couch.

Minutes later, the bathroom door was kicked open and Hermione came out wearing a scowl and her pyjamas; an oversized Chudley Cannons tee-shirt and tight light blue pants with tiny yellow moons on them.

_She was entirely too young._

Salazar closed his eyes in frustration, cursing whatever deity had been vindictive enough to place his entire fate in the hands of a little girl.

"I'm tired and I have class tomorrow. We'll talk of your predicament in the morning," Hermione informed the ghost, her bossiness seeming to be one of the few things she hadn't outgrown from last year.

_That wouldn't do, though. That wouldn't do at all._

"I have waited for you _a thousand years_! I believe that's more that enough—!"

"This is not up for discussion!" She all but screamed at him, before turning to look at the painting in the wall. "All of you! Shut up! This is crazy!" She shook her head again, and raised a hand. "Just… be quiet. We'll talk about it tomorrow. Please."

_Was she _dismissing_ him?_

He barely suppressed a sneer. His mediator was not only teenaged but also most impolite. He foreshadowed a painful journey from here to the afterlife.

Salazar Slytherin released a long-suffering sigh as he floated towards the door.

Hermione watched him go, shaking her head at his retreating form as though she still couldn't quite believe her eyes.

Which she _couldn't_.

Echoing his sigh, she climbed into bed and turned off the lights before shoving her wand under her golden pillow. Something was eating her up though.

"By the way, _Godric_, it's this coward Gryffindor whom has been keeping your brave ones alive." she hissed resentfully into the room, not sure if the Founder had heard her, and not really sure if she'd wanted him to anyways.

Hermione pulled the burgundy comforter over her head with a frustrated growl, and closed her eyes. Maybe Hogwarts would keep her safe. Maybe the nightmares wouldn't come tonight.

She was fortunately right, and sleep was swift to embrace her.

In doing so she missed the look of pain, anger, and violent revulsion that Godric Gryffindor sent towards Salazar Slytherin. She missed the troubled faces of Helga and Rowena.

In the bedroom's darkness, the only light came from the lonely, pearly-white outline of a man that rested against the doorframe, staring fixedly at the sleeping girl that fate had appointed as his only hope of salvation.

**

* * *

_  
_**

_TBC_


	4. The Wake Up Call

_Summary: As Hogwarts's new Head Girl, Hermione has to deal with her new duties all while tolerating the presence of some very unwelcome roommates. Head Boy Draco Malfoy is one of them. Four opinionated portraits and an arrogant ghost who won't leave her alone are the others._

_Warnings: AU seventh year, and past partly-AU sixth year. Slight crossover with Meg Cabot's __Mediator __Series, although its reading is not at all necessary for the understanding of the fic. Non-regular updates._

_Rating: T at the moment. Will probably change in future chapters._

_Acknowledgements: To EuphoniumGurl0, for the beta work!_

* * *

**"If you're going to do something tonight that you'll be sorry for tomorrow morning, sleep late."**

**— Henny Youngman**

* * *

Over the centuries, Salazar Slytherin had managed to find amusement in observing the living. True, reading the same damned books over the students' shoulders over and over again wasn't all that fascinating, but the Gryffindor-Slytherin feud and its unfortunate casualties never disappointed. Some of his other endless sources of entertainment consisted in watching students collapse from stress before their finals, and witnessing the most frustrated Professors develop ulcers as they attempted to educate certain less than talented children.

Nevertheless, there was always the matter of what to do during the nights. Sure, it was relatively amusing to watch the rule-breaking students get caught after hours, but after three in the morning, even the most raucous mischief-makers had already retired to bed. There were always a few libertine couples carrying out their affairs in the school's cabinets, of course, but Salazar had yet to stoop so low as to play voyeur to the exploits of randy teenagers.

And so, after certain hour, Salazar Slytherin was left with absolutely nothing to do.

While the Founder didn't need sleep as a normal, living wizard would, he still managed to disconnect himself from his consciousness at times if not to rest, at least to pass the time. Most nights, however, he found himself staring into space, either brooding (sulking, Helga called it, but he heartily disagreed) over his pathetic existence and previous mistakes, or else inwardly damning the perpetually insufferable Ricky Gryffindor, who even post-mortemly managed to be a gigantic thorn in his side.

That night he had done just that, only most of his anger was directed to his less than diligent mediator rather than to Godric, for once. He still was somewhat miffed at his long-time enemy for trying to turn Granger against him, but he really hadn't expected anything less from him. He probably deserved it, anyways.

_But the girl! The girl knew nothing of him beyond the fact that he'd spent over a thousand years walking aimlessly through the stone halls of the castle he'd once built and loved – unseen, unheard, forgotten. And yet she had dismissed him with such ease!_

He'd expected a bit more sympathy, he realized, from the chit that had ran herself ragged over House-Elfs, hippogriffs, skinny bespectacled boys, and every stupid little pity case that was thrown her way.

Salazar was still ardently glaring a hole at the Heads' brown-coloured carpet when a loud yelling broke him of his reverie.

"MIONE! Open up!"

He knew that voice.

"We've brought Crookshanks with us and he's—no, don't!—clawing at my—bloody hell—_AUGH!_"

"Ron! Do you _want_ to wake up the Ferret too?" A quieter male voice hissed, and was followed by a high-pitched yelp. "Oh, just give him to me for Merlin's sake! He hates you!"

Salazar raised an eyebrow. _Ron?_ Well, it seemed that the other two-thirds of the Gryffindor Dream Team were here to collect their brain.

He sighed.

"You can _have_ him. And Malfoy's probably up already, powdering his nose, or something."

Granted, it was because of them that the past six years had been some of the most interesting in his whole millennia as a ghost, but that didn't make Miss Granger's friends any less obnoxious.

"HERMIONE!"

His jaw muscles tight and rigid, Salazar turned around and floated up to the Head Girl's room before the Malfoy brat _did_ wake up and ended up hexing Potter and his annoyingly loud sidekick.

_Not that that would be _too_ terrible._

He lingered at the Gryffindor's door, unsure of how to proceed.

"Wake up, girl," he finally commanded from the doorframe, not getting much attention at all.

Cursing darkly under his breath, he approached the little chit's bed and waved a hand to shove aside the crimson draperies. "Miss Granger, I'm not a patient man, and—"

Salazar's eyes widened a fraction as he took in the sleeping girl's form. She had kicked away her comforter, and her overly-large shirt had ridden up, giving him a first class view of her flat stomach, small waist, and just the tiniest hint of her right breast. Her caramel-brown hair was sweaty and sprawled all over the place.

"HERMIONE JEAN GRANGER!"

Salazar looked away swiftly. Judging by her behaviour yesterday, Hermione Granger wouldn't take it kindly if she found him ogling her breasts – even if he had no interest in them whatsoever.

_None whatsoever_, he repeated to himself, and fixed his stare on the now vacant portrait that hung above the wooden desk.

"HERMIO – Oh, hello there Ferr – Wh – _NOO!_"

The sharp _thump_ distracted Salazar from his musings. From the staircase, he glanced at the scene occurring downstairs, and confirmed that the Malfoy brat had indeed woken up and hexed Granger's loathsome friend.

"YOU BASTARD! MALFOY, FIX IT!" Weasley demanded from a glaring, mussed-up Head Boy who stood before the opened entrance of the common room, his wand pointed at the red-haired Gryffindor who was now sporting a pair of fetching goat legs.

"BE QUIET, YOU INFERNAL PEASANT! DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT FEELS TO WAKE UP TO YOUR EARSPLITTING SHRIEKING!?"

_Sweet Nimüe. Gryffindor and Granger yesterday and now this! He really seemed to be surrounded by rather unstable people, wasn't he?_

"Calm down, Malfoy. We're only here to give Hermione her cat back," an uncomfortable Potter tried to reason, nodding at the ugly, flat-faced cat that growled menacingly in his arms.

Malfoy got even more livid if that was possible. His wand hand even trembled a little from barely repressed fury.

_Oh, __well. Maybe this was somewhat entertaining after all._

"DO I LOOK LIKE I CARE ABOUT GRANGER'S DISGUSTING PETS?" The blond boy bellowed, then retreated slowly as The Boy Who Lived advanced on him, his arms extended. "GET THAT BEAST AWAY FROM ME, POTTER, OR YOU'LL—_NO! STOP! STOP! STOP IT_!"

Apparently, the so-called cat had been offended by Malfoy's insult to his persona and had decided to physically attack the Slytherin. The ghost grinned.

"STUPID MONGREL, GEROFF! GEROFF! UGH!"

It was Salazar's cheering that woke Hermione up that morning.

She rolled over and tried to fall asleep again, but Ron's laughter and Draco's pitiful cries just didn't make it possible.

**ooo**

Hermione Granger walked towards the Great Hall only eighteen minutes later, a tired-looking Harry and a now unhexed Ron flanking her sides. Slytherin floated by them, glowering at the Gryffindor girl who had once again dismissed him – this time in favour of breakfast.

_He was S__alazar bloody Slytherin! Founder of the proud House of the Serpent! Expert duellist and Potions Master! Dark Wizard! Feared enchanter!_

_And yet she-she – __Breakfast!!_

"Miss Granger, if you think I'm going to wait for you all day then you're sorely mistaken!" Salazar proclaimed loudly in her ear.

The girl glared at him but kept walking towards the Great Hall.

_For breakfast!_

"Was that really necessary, Ron?" Hermione asked, turning away from the Founder's slightly manic face to frown at her redheaded friend.

Ron snorted. "Of course it was! The stupid cat was chasing Demelza's and driving the whole common room insane!" He paused to send her a mischievous smirk and added, "She said she never wants to see him near Eris again, by the way."

"Well, it's not my fault Crooks ran away with her pet, and I couldn't quite ask McGonagall to wait for me to go find him before she showed us the Heads' room, could I?" Hermione replied testily. "But I meant the _yelling_. Was that necessary too?"

"Of course it was. The whelp can't help but be obnoxious, can he?" Salazar asked sarcastically to no one in particular.

"Of course it was!" Ron cried.

"_See?_" The ghost smirked at Hermione smugly, who could only look at him fiercely in retaliation.

"Um… Hermione? Why are you glaring at _me_?" Harry asked confusedly, retreating slowly from the girl's burning gaze.

Hermione broke off her staring match with the dead Founder and shifted her focus to Harry. "Wha – oh. No, no, I wasn't glaring at you, Harry."

The boy cast a glance backwards, but there was no one else there. He raised an inquiring eyebrow to which Hermione blushed, and glared at Salazar even harder. Harry blinked nervously.

He was looking at her with the same horrible gleam of concern she'd seen so often in people's eyes this summer.

She squashed that train of thought as quickly as it came.

"Hermione? Are you okay?" Ron inquired.

The brunette searched for an appropriate answer.

_Well, let's see. __Draco 'Twitchy Ferret' Malfoy is my roommate, Godric Gryffindor thinks himself my moral compass, and the ghost of Salazar Slytherin is my new personal stalker._ _Oh, yes Ron, I'm super!_

"Sure I am, Ron. Why wouldn't I be?" Hermione said in a chipper voice, a fake grin plastered on her face while her dark brown eyes burned in anger.

"Well, beca—"

"No reason!" Harry interrupted his best friend hurriedly, having – it seemed – a higher regard for his life than the redhead.

Salazar smirked again. This was certainly amusing. Maybe having Hermione Granger as his mediator wouldn't be so terrible after all.

**ooo**

"Come on, Draco…"

"No."

"Please?"

"_No_."

"Draco, it's important to me!"

"Dammit, Zabini, I said _NO_!" The Head Boy growled in desperation as he walked faster, hoping to leave his annoying housemate behind.

"Draco, wait!" Blaise demanded, and pushed his way through a horde of giggling Hufflepuffs to catch up with the blond.

_No such luck_, Draco thought mournfully.

Annoyed, Blaise grabbed Draco's upper arm and dragged him into an empty classroom, dismissing the strange looks that the yellow-tied students sent their way.

"Blaise Zabini, unhand me this moment!" The blond demanded angrily as soon as the door had closed behind him.

"I will," the boy in question replied with a small smirk. "As long as you hear me out, of course."

The Head Boy let out a long-suffering sigh, failing to see the point of it. He knew what his so-called best friend was going to say and he truly didn't want to hear it. He was late for breakfast though, and he'd had enough of a crappy start to his first day of school already.

"Be quick about it then," he acquiesced grumpily, waving a hand in invitation.

Blaise's usually coolly-schooled features broke into a wide, honest grin that made Draco want to gag in disgust.

"Splendid," the dark-skinned boy said, and clapped his hands together looking frighteningly similar to his mother. "Now, if you could just talk to her abo—"

"_Talk_ to her!?" Draco cried, his tired grey eyes now completely open in disbelief. He pulled back his robe's collar sleeves to reveal an intricate array of red slashes. "Look what she's _done_ to me!"

Eyebrows raised, Blaise leaned over to examine the wounds. "Hermione Granger… _scratched _you?

Draco blushed, and let go of his robes. "Well… not exactly," he grumbled under his breath, eying the floor. "That beastly cat of hers did."

Blaise blinked at him before dissolving into chuckles. "The great Draco Malfoy bested by a pet kitten? What is the world coming to?!"

"Zabini, that thing was _not_ a kitten," the Head Boy replied, slamming a fist into a desk to convey an appropriate dramatic emphasis.

His friend paid him no mind and continued chuckling.

"Animals just seem to have issues with me…" Draco added, recalling his rather unpleasant experience with Hagrid's dim-witted hippogriff four years ago.

"Yeah. I wonder why that is," Blaise said as he attempted to repress further laughter. He did need Draco's help after all, and that thought sobered him up.

"Seriously now, mate, could you just – I don't know – introduce us?"

Draco stared at his best friend's hopeful face in blatant astonishment. "What the hell makes you think that I'm in any position to introduce you two!? She _HATES_ me, remember? And I assure you, Blaise; it's quite mutual!"

The boy just rolled his eyes and waved a hand in dismissal. "Details, Draco. You're Heads together now! If she found us, say, playing chess in your common room then the polite thing to do would be to introduce us, wouldn't it?"

Draco forced himself to take long, deep breaths. "Zabini. I'll say this once, so listen close: Granger. And. I. Are. Not. Polite. To. Each. Other."

Blaise sighed deeply. "Come on, Draco. Please? I've liked her for the longest, and now I finally have an excuse to approach her!"

"But you don't! You don't have an excuse! You're still a Slytherin and a pureblood, and she's still a Gryffindor and a mudblood, and there's still a bloody war going on out there!" Draco snapped. _Why couldn't he just get it?_

The dark haired boy remained quiet for a few seconds. "I thought you said you wouldn't call her that anymore."

Draco clenched his jaw and pulled his eyes away from Blaise's disappointed face. Regardless the common opinion, he truly did care what other people thought about him. People being solely his parents and best friend, of course, but that was beside the point.

"I'm… sorry," he mumbled, noticeably struggling with the words that left an unpleasant taste in his mouth. "Force of habit."

The other boy shook his head vaguely and stood up, brushing past the blond. "Let's just go to breakfast, Draco."

The Head Boy moved to follow him but stopped suddenly. The morning sun shone brightly through the room's fake window and illuminated the dust that hung on the air.

Feeling resigned and defeated, Draco Abraxas Malfoy gritted his teeth as he uttered the words that – he was sure – would come back to bite him in the arse in the near future.

"Fine, Blaise." He said. "You win. I'll help you… with Granger – to an extent."

Blaise turned around, another foolish grin adorning his face. "Really?"

_Yes, __really. What position would provide him with a better chance of discouraging him than that of advisor?_

Draco attempted a feeble smile. "Sure… that's what… friends are for… right?"

_Salazar. This whole thing was already making him sick to his stomach._

"Right," Blaise replied enthusiastically. Too enthusiastically. "You won't regret this, mate. I promise."

Fake smile firmly in place, Draco nodded despite feeling the dread creeping up his spine. He didn't need to be a Seer to know that his friend was wrong.

**

* * *

_  
_**

_TBC_


	5. Of Patience and Perception

_Summary: As Hogwarts's new Head Girl, Hermione has to deal with her new duties all while tolerating the presence of some very unwelcome roommates. Head Boy Draco Malfoy is one of them. Four opinionated portraits and an arrogant ghost who won't leave her alone are the others._

_Warnings: AU seventh year, and past partly-AU sixth year. Slight crossover with Meg Cabot's __Mediator __Series, although its reading is not at all necessary for the understanding of the fic. Non-regular updates._

_Rating: T at the moment. Will probably change in future chapters._

_Acknowledgements: To EuphoniumGurl0, for the beta work!_

_A/N: Hey guys. It has been so ridiculously long that I won't even attempt to apologize! This is a new chapter, but the whole story has been revamped, so I recommend that you take a look at the previous chapters even if you've read them already. Now, don't you think the quote below is highly appropriate?_

* * *

**"Patience, n. A minor form of despair, disguised as a virtue."_  
_**

**— Ambrose Bierce**

**

* * *

  
**

Hermione sighed for what felt like the hundredth time that morning.

"I just don't get it, Mione. Why can't you just tell McGonagall to convince Dumbledore to give the Head Boyship to somebody else?"

Ron sat next to her, and his cornflower blue eyes sincere and completely devoid of humour.

_Gods__, the boy genuinely believed she had the power to influence their Head of House, let alone the Headmaster._

Her eye twitched in mild exasperation, eliciting an amused smirk from the ghostly Founder currently lounging across the seats before her– half of his incorporeal form overlapping with an oblivious Seamus Finnigan, mind you.

"Ron, if Dumbledore picked him, then he must have a reason. He won't change his mind."

That much was true although she could only speculate about the nature of that reason. Malfoy was a decent student, but not the best by any means; and he had never been the sort of person who you would trust to handle responsibility adequately. The whole Inquisitorial Squad business was proof enough of that, in her opinion.

Hermione ignored Ron's disapproving snort, and helped herself to some tea. It _was_ a little strange, now that she thought about it.

She supposed it could all be an attempt to seem impartial and show the Slytherins that Hogwarts's current administration didn't think them all innately evil, but she it seemed unlikely.

Were that the case, Dumbledore could've simply appointed that quiet Nott boy and obtained a similar effect. Although she had barely crossed words with him in their past seven years of schooling, she knew it was him who came after her in the academic line. At least on those years that he managed to beat Ravenclaw's Anthony Goldsmith.

True, Nott seemed to be a bit of a loner and maybe not exactly carved out for a position of leadership, but surely there were better options than _Draco Bloody Malfoy_. Even Zabini would've been a more diplomatic choice, and she did have the impression that he got better marks than his blond housemate.

She supposed that it wasn't all that important, though. She certainly wouldn't enjoy working with Malfoy, but she would cope. There was too much going on right now; she couldn't afford to waste energy on petty school rivalries.

"Maybe you should still give it a try, Hermione," Harry offered, pulling her from her musings. He bit his lip for a second, as though deciding if he should continue.

He apparently figured he should.

"Malfoy's a right prat, you know? And, well, I reckon you don't need that right now…"

She tensed and surreptitiously glanced around to see if her housemates had noticed Harry's slip of tongue.

Most of them hadn't – Ginny was listening attentively to the trio's conversation, but that wasn't anything new – so she turned back to the concerned-looking Boy-Who-Lived.

"I can handle it," she replied a bit curtly despite her attempts at nonchalance.

She didn't detect a certain ghost's narrowed gaze.

"Sodding hell, Hermione! Do you _want _to share your living quarters with the slimy bastard all year?" Ron demanded, unsurprisingly failing to keep his temper in check.

Harry closed his eyes in resignation of the inevitable bicker to come.

"No, not particularly, Ronald," she said truthfully in spite of her irritation. Spending time with Malfoy ranked very, very low on her list of preferred activities.

_E__specially when she remembered to whom he was related to. It wasn't the git's fault, certainly, but it was hard to remain objective._

The redhead scowled and looked unconvinced, though. Hermione frowned to herself, picked up her toast and buttered it with a perhaps a bit more energy than was strictly necessary.

"Ron, look– he's a horrid little ferret, and I don't like him any more than you do, but the fact stands that he hasn't done anything to me yet." She argued as the butchered bread loaf disintegrated in her hands. "Refraining to pick inane fights with a Slytherin doesn't make me a traitor to our kind, you know?"

Mr Salazar Slytherin himself snorted at that. "Of course it does. Didn't you listen to your oh-so-wise House Founder yesterday?"

"Oh, be quiet," Hermione responded hotly with a swift glare in his direction.

And immediately remembered nobody but her could see him.

The Head Girl lifted her eyes guiltily to a stunned Seamus and Dean as she steadfastly tried to ignore the neighbouring students' raised eyebrows.

Slytherin grinned in evil amusement.

_Fuck_ _you, you smarmy, overgrown snake!_

"I, er..." Hermione brushed the bread crumbles from her hands and blew at her tea, feigning normality. "It's just that I'm a little fed up with all this Quidditch talk, you know. Sorry I snapped."

Seamus blinked. "Hermione, uh... we were talking about our schedules."

_Great. __Of all the times for boys to talk about something _other _than Quidditch._

"Oh, I see," she smiled sheepishly and didn't have to fake the blush that already coloured her cheeks. "I'm so sorry. I must be too stressed, first day back and all."

"It's alright, don't worry about it," Dean assured her with a benevolent, if uneasy, smile.

She exhaled a little in relief.

_M__aybe it was a good thing everyone thought she was such a swot, after all._

Her best friends were being uncharacteristically perceptive, though, and eyed her with evident worry. But then considering what had happened over the summer, they might very well buy her 'stress' excuse, even if not for the reason she had offered.

Maybe it really was the stress, she mused as she closed her eyes and the Gryffindors around her restarted their conversations. Perhaps everything that had happened yesterday night was one big, crazy dream.

_A collective hallucination. _

_A product of her overworked mind. _

_A whimsical fantasy._

_A huge—_

"Are you almostdone with your oriental meditation, kid? I was hoping we could clear this up sometime before the next millennia. Maybe I was aiming too high?"

— huge_, pain in the arse._

**ooo**

" ... at the Wizard's Council summit of 1793. Nevertheless, Urg the Unclean would not accede to the decrees and—"

"I can't _believe_ that you're delaying this most vital conversation a single second longer," Salazar ascertained as he shook his head in complete incredulity of his mediator's abhorrent lack of manners.

A low growl and a glare in his general direction was all he got from the girl before she fixed her attention back to her notes.

_Sweet Circe. She had growled at him. She had _actually_ growled at him!_

Maybe he shouldn't have been so quick to dismiss Helga's idea of instituting an Etiquette and Social Decorum class all those years ago. This little chit could've definitely benefited from it.

He exhaled forcefully in an attempt to reign over his exponentially shortening temper.

Fellow ghost Cuthbert Binns wasn't being very helpful.

"... True, such words are reminiscent from Eargit the Ugly's previous propaganda, but we must remember that Eargit was a fervent opposer of violence as a means of persuasion. Urg, on the other hand..."

Salazar snorted. "Fervent opposer of violence, my arse. The bloody goblin had half of the summit poisoned to get his petition passed, for Nimüe's sake."

Granger's curly-haired head slowly turned to face him.

_Was the prissy little swot appalled at his swearing? Well__, too bad. His irritability was her fault and no one else's._

"Really?" Granger whispered under her breath so as not to be overheard by the Hufflepuffs sitting on the adjacent desk.

_Oh, she was actually interested in History of Magic then? _

_Well, he supposed it shouldn't surprise him if she was, considering that since she'd arrived to Hogwarts he'd seen her spend the greatest part of her free time surrounded by dusty old tomes in the library. _

_When she wasn't foolishly risking her life to save the world with her two thick-headed friends, that was._

"Yes, really," he replied rather warily as he saw the girl lean a little closer to his translucent person.

"... Even then did Urg refuse to mitigate the extremism of the measure, regardless of his own supporters' opinions on the subject..."

Her lips curved in a faint little self-satisfied smirk. "I did think it was a tad suspicious that the books stopped mentioning Beamish, MacDougal and Leigh-Ackland after the 1340's plebiscite."

"1342's," he corrected immediately and tried to ignore the fact that he felt absurdly pleased by her interest in his story.

He had been alone for way too long, he decided. He hadn't always been able to visit his fellow Founders' portraits and had sorely lacked sufficient human interaction.

_Not that Gryffindor made a good conversationalist anyways._

"1342, that's right," Granger corrected herself, still looking at him in surprised appreciation.

"Indeed it was only after his assassination, thirteen years later, that the magical community was able to..."

Quite suddenly, the light faded from the Head Girl's dark eyes, her mouth tightening somewhat bitterly.

_He didn't believe he'd seen her wearing that expression last year. Curious that._

"We'll speak after class," she stated, her eyes no longer on him. "I have a free period before lunch."

"I would appreciate that," he responded mechanically but couldn't shake the feeling that there was something seriously wrong with Hermione Granger.

_He would find out what._

She was his mediator, after all.

**

* * *

  
**

_TBC_


End file.
